I Can Hear the Snow Fall
by Troid
Summary: I've been trapped here so long, alone in this false virtual world. I've forgotten myself...but I remember Luka. If I can get every detail just right, I can make her real. That's what I tell myself. Miku/Luka little yuri oneshot...


Another Vocaloid oneshot.

**Important notice:** This fic is not very good. It was written out of the blue late one night...

Feel free to read it, of course! I'd still like to hear what you think of it.

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><p>The frosty air nips at my fingertips, but it is worth it to feel her skin against mine. We clasp our hands, entwine our fingers, and I make sure to cover hers so she will stay warm. Snowflakes dust her beautiful hair; I brush them off with my mittened hand so they won't fall into her eyes.<p>

Luka's eyes are the wrong color.

Gradually the falling snow turns into small, luminescent numbers. I watch as Luka herself is replaced by twisting strands of something I can't name, something you'd expect to see if a computer drive suddenly spilled its insides into the air. Soon the snowy park is gone, and I am left no closer to the one thing I care about.

We sit on a bench together, beneath the glow of a lamp with light so soft yet bright enough that the fleeting shadows of the snowflakes play across her face. It makes a kaleidoscope of her pale blue eyes. Our arms are linked, and I lean against her chest. For a moment I feel the chill seeping through the layers that bundle me, but then she slides her arm out from where I cling to it and wraps it around me, and immediately I feel warm, safe, secure.

I can't feel Luka's heartbeat.

Everything freezes in place, even the icy crystals in the air. I look upon the strange, still surroundings for a moment, but the beauty of it has long since been lost on me. When I look back, Luka is metal, wires, soldering. I open her and I close her, I manipulate her inner workings and I cry in her lifeless arms, but I am still so far away from reaching the heart she doesn't have.

Luka deserves better than this. I take much more care this time. This time, it lasts longer.

The fireplace warms us, turning the snow into tiny droplets of water soon dried by the flickering heat. Winter is kept at bay beyond the frosted windows, and I sit behind her to rub her shoulders, back, neck, and erase the last tension left from the biting air. As I slide my arms over her, resisting a temptation to let them drift somewhere inappropriate, and grasp her around her midriff, I feel the steady beat of her heart.

We stay like that in silence for a while, and I am utterly content. This feels just right. My body fits perfectly around hers, and my hands could reach any part of her I want them to. This is what happiness is.

When she gets up to take a shower, I slide myself up onto the couch and wait. As I detect the sound of the water running, I can't help imagining what she's dong. Are her clothes hitting the floor now, one by one? Is she wearing nothing at all? Does the shower's steam obscure her, making of her figure a slender silhouette? I'm embarrassing myself thinking such things, but rather than clearing, my mind moves in another direction. What if I got in with her? What would happen? I imagine the look flashing in her sky-gray blue eyes. If she didn't kick me out, then, inevitably, we'd…

But I only wait. When she finally returns to me and we again relax, I bury my face in her hair. I want to breathe in that scent of her, from the shampoo she always uses. I'm sure she used it this time, and I'm already imagining the smell with anticipation.

Luka's hair has no smell.

It all crashes. I am trapped between the machine interior and exterior, between data and clockwork, and I'm not sure which one _I_ am anymore. It lasted so long that time, I was even becoming different… But I don't want me. I want Luka.

I work in both realms now, rewriting here, tinkering there, caring little for organization in my work. I think I am becoming desperate. I think I am beginning to run out of time. I think…that I think.

Thinking is nothing. Feeling is everything.

Luka, Luka, you can think forever and a day and never connect anything, never connect with anything.

This time, it lasts longer than I would have thought possible.

We are in the world's end dancehall, whirling amid color and sound. We spin around each other, stretching to an arm's length but always linked, moving in the next moment for a passionate embrace. A crowd has formed around us, cheering our dance, but for us this is not a performance—it's much more. As I move with her, with my beloved Luka, nothing could be more perfect.

Suddenly it's as if the roof has opened up, and glistening snow swirls around us with impossible slowness, moving in impossible patterns. It catches in Luka's eyelashes, and it melts there, turning into drops of water that run down her cheeks. Tears. I know they aren't, and yet— To see Luka cry, even though I know she isn't, is too much for me. I won't allow her to be sad, even if she isn't really. I want to dry those beautiful blue eyes.

I embrace her, holding her to me. I can smell the fresh scent in her hair, and her breath is hot against my chest. I feel my own heartbeat speeding up as hers does. My Luka, my Luka, so close to me now… She looks up at me, and suddenly we are alone against a serene starfield. Star-crossed. I want nothing less than to be by her side forever. Until I die. Forever, that is.

I am elated to see the desire in her eyes. This is it; this is exactly what I want. It is she who leans in close and takes my lips, _she_ who kisses _me_.

Luka's kiss has no taste.

My cry shatters it all, and the world's end dancehall and the backdrop of stars are reduced to worthless images in two dimensions. They're gone the next moment, and through my tears I can't even tell whether this is the inside or the outside, digital or mechanical. It doesn't matter. Luka will never be mine, never be real. Why am I even trying any longer? Why did I even start? What kind of stupid delusion am I chasing?

I bite back the tears, bitter to realize I _don't_ find it stupid. It's still all I care about… This person called Luka Megurine.

She _is_ real. She must be. How could I, alone in my own world, remember someone if she didn't exist outside of it? I remember the first dream I had of her. The moment I saw her blue eyes, felt her heart beat beneath my hand, smelled her hair, tasted her lips, _heard her beautiful voice_, I knew I had to make it real.

If I could get every detail right, I could bring the real Luka into being. That's what I told myself.

If it wasn't completely accurate, it wouldn't be real. It would an imitation.

For her sake, Luka's sake, I have to get it right.

It's not just for her sake, of course. I want Luka to _exist_ more than anything, whether she is mine or not, but there's something else: I don't want to be lonely anymore. I've been alone, lost amid a computer program fused with a machine's insides, trapped and shut away, for so long…

I try to remember how I got this way.

Once upon a time, there was a singer called Miku.

All that remains of Miku now is I. Cast aside, imprisoned in an empty virtual landscape in an empty mechanical shell in some empty warehouse. The world has forgotten Miku. I have forgotten Miku. But I remember Luka.

Luka must be from the world before this one. From back when I existed.

If Luka were here with me, everything would be all right. We could walk in the snow, snuggle on a bench, sit by the fireplace, dance together, forever.

Before I know it, we are walking in the snow. I take Luka's hand, brushing the snowflakes form her face so they won't fall into her blue eyes. We walk in silence, our breath tangible in the chilled air, and I hope Luka doesn't notice just how fast the steamy air escapes my lips. It is cold, but inside I couldn't be warmer.

We come to a park where the snow is untrodden, a quiet white blanket for the earth. Our two pairs of footprints mark the only trail along this path, and as I glance back I somehow have to smile to see them there, side by side. To me, they are an imprint of the bond I share with Luka—as if you could read our love in them, as if looking at them you could see we were handing hands. Even the falling snow seems not to fill them in…

The snow covering the bench is dispelled with a sweep of my mittens, and I make sure Luka sits on the driest spot. The bench is comfortable, its wood seating somehow warmer than metal would be, and it looks out on a vast and blank expanse of the park, where ice-coated trees glisten. The lamp above us has a warm glow, as if the bitter air only makes it burn more brilliantly. Its light is soft, but strong, and the snowflakes drifting earthward make dancing shadows on Luka's face.

We huddle together, not so much for warmth as to feel each other's touch. I rest my head against Luka's chest, and she holds me close to her heart. I can feel it beating… I tug a mitten off with my teeth and reach up to stroke her cheek, and I could swear I feel her heart flutter.

How long we stay there, I don't know. I would say I slept, but I kept my eyes on Luka's beautiful features the whole time… It isn't a long walk back home. Once inside, our cheeks are burning rosy red and we both sniffle a little, but that deep, heated feeling upon coming inside is one of the things to enjoy about a walk in winter.

Our layers hung up, we sit by the fireplace. The windows are traced with fingers of frost, but the cold couldn't be further from us within the toasty heat of the licking flames. The evening is not late yet, but winter's early dark sky makes everything sleepy anyway. When Luka gets up to take a shower, I grasp briefly for her fingers as they slip from mine, but I don't say anything.

The water running one floor up makes me imagine her while she undresses, runs a hand under the stream of hot water, steps inside to have her body cloaked with steam. I imagine getting in with her, but I stay where I am, because the evening seems later than it is, and a quiet night like this one is perfect in its way. I could ask for nothing more—nothing more than Luka.

I'm dozing a little by the time she comes and sits down at my feet. I move forward, wrapping my arms and legs around her, fitting our bodies together front to back. I can smell the shampoo in her hair, a sweet and light scent that isn't helping me stay awake.

But I am not asleep as we stand, suddenly dressed in ballroom gowns of black, teal, pink, and then we begin to dance. It is the world's end dancehall, the roof is open and snow spills in around us like tears or sunbeams, and we spin around and around together. We move apart only as far as out arms can stretch, ever with hands clasped tight, and the next moment we have pulled in close as if we are two magnets. Her kiss as she leans into me is sweet as anything I've ever tasted.

Everything is perfect now. I know it. Finally, with almost a sob of happiness, I open my mouth and sing to her.

_Draw me closer, as if we are two magnets,_

_so that even if we separate, we will reunite again._

_Let's become one; it's okay if we can't turn back._

_That's all right, for you're my one and only love._

As I finish the verse, it is the duet chorus we draw close to. My heart hammers; my eyes are fixed on Luka. This is it.

Luka parts her lips and

. . .

I can hear the snow fall.

I collapse at her feet. This time the surroundings don't disappear, because I am too hollow inside to even release them. It's over. Luka is over. I can't make her alive. I can't make her mine. She has no voice . . .

"Miku…"

A whisper in my ear, and then a wondrous, rich melody sung with such passion it must melt the falling snow.

I can hear Luka sing.

"I'm here for you, Miku," she says.

"Come back to me," she whispers tearfully, and I suddenly become aware of a dim light in my field of vision. "Come back…"

I feel something. Not a touch or a sensation, but… I feel my own body? "Open your eyes," Luka says, a note of desperation in her voice. The light grows brighter. "Come back to me, Miku…please…"

Suddenly the light is blinding. I squint and raise a hand—

"Miku…?" Luka's voice is tentative, unbelieving.

The light forms itself gradually into Luka's astonished, overjoyed face. Before I can regain the bearings of my new old body, she wraps me in a crushing hug. "Oh my God, Miku! You're back…" She repeats it, crying almost too hard to speak.

I'm in a hospital bed. Summer sunlight is streaming through the parted curtains.

How long was I…?

It doesn't matter. Luka waited for me. Luka is the reason I finally woke up. I hug her back with all the strength in my frail arms, murmuring over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

All that time, I thought I was looking for Luka, but she was really looking for me.

And she found me.


End file.
